


Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow

by emynn



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Birthday, Blow Jobs, Chair Sex, Dirty Talk, M/M, Mirror Sex, Post-Series, Reflection, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 20:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3622956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emynn/pseuds/emynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because now all Brian could think about was exactly what he was like when he was Justin’s age. It came crashing over him in waves, one memory pounding into him after another. And while normally when this happened Brian would topple a bit, struggling to regain his footing in the sand, tonight it seemed as though the waves were stronger, more powerful, a fucking tsunami, and they’d pull him under and swallow him whole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Britin 30 Day Challenge on Tumblr, Day 11: ”And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.” - Kiersten White, The Chaos of Stars

Brian threw back a shot of whiskey, hissing a bit as it burned the back of his throat. This would be the drink that pushed him over to the optimal stage of intoxication -- high enough that he felt like he was fucking floating in the air and was horny as hell, but not quite at the point of falling over himself. He had big plans for tonight, and they all required being at _just_ this level of inebriation. 

“Never thought I’d see the day we’d celebrate your birthday at an art gallery with an exhibition of works inspired by Shakespeare,” Michael said, coming up behind Brian. “And with all our clothes on. Such an elegant affair.”

“It’s not a birthday party,” Brian said. “This is Justin’s night.”

“Right,” Michael said. “The close of Justin’s show just _happened_ to fall on your birthday. I’m sure he didn’t plan that at all.”

Brian shrugged, looking around the room in search of the man in question. “Said he didn’t.”

Not that he believed it for a second. He’d been suspicious the instant Justin had said he wanted to hold a party to celebrate the close of his latest show; Justin _hated_ closing parties, found them to be pretentious and tedious events where he couldn’t even get drunk like he wanted since he still had to schmooze with all the attendees. And he _knew_ Justin was up to something when he had revealed the date of said party. But when Brian had asked him if he knew what day that was, Justin had only looked over at him with big, wide eyes and said “Saturday.”

“Don’t play coy,” Brian had said. “You know it’s my fucking 40th.”

“Why, Brian,” Justin had said, his voice infuriatingly innocent, “I had no idea you wanted to celebrate your birthday.”

“Who said I wanted to celebrate it?”

“Well, then I can see no reason why you’d object to my celebrating the close of my show that night … with all our friends coming to see my work and all the free top-shelf liquor you can drink.”

That clever son of a bitch. Brian couldn’t argue with him after that. 

Not that he really minded. It had been at least two years since they’d all been in the same room together, and Justin’s agent, apparently giddy that he’d finally agreed to one of these little soirées, had spared no expense on the food or drink. 

Plus he’d already fucked Justin over the upstairs balcony and Justin had blown him in a dark alcove as Brian kept careful watch over the crowd milling about just feet away -- well, probably not as careful as he could have, but Justin gave fucking amazing head and it was a testament to Brian’s control that he was able to focus on anything else at all.

“Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad we all get to see you today,” Michael said, clapping a hand to Brian’s shoulder. “Brian Kinney, defying all the odds and aging gracefully, still alive and thriving at forty despite all his dire predictions.”

Brian snorted. “That was a long time ago.”

“Yeah, I guess it was,” Michael said. “Justin’s been really good for you.”

Well, that statement just shot to the front of the race for understatement of the still very young century. “Yeah,” he said.

Michael ordered a glass of wine at the bar and then turned back to Brian. “In case I never told you, I’m really glad you decided to take him home that night.” He took his wine from the bartender, kissed Brian, and disappeared back into the crowd.

“What was that about?”

Brian turned around and pulled Justin into a firm embrace. “You know Michael,” Brian said, and pressed his lips against Justin’s. “Alcohol makes him maudlin these days.”

Justin’s brow furrowed; he clearly was not convinced. “Why wouldn’t you think you’d live to be forty?”

“Do you not know me?” Brian asked. “When have I ever given any indication that I enjoyed growing older?”

“It sounded like something more than you worrying about getting gray hair and having to wear glasses.”

“I don’t have any gray hair, and I _don’t_ need glasses,” Brian said. “I’m forty, not dead.”

“You’re also skirting the issue,” Justin said.

“That’s because there _is_ no issue,” Brian said. “Justin. _If_ I ever gave Michael any reason to believe I wouldn’t live to be forty, it was a long fucking time ago. Believe me. I left the cyanide back in Pittsburgh. You don’t have to worry about dividing up my estate just yet.”

Justin smacked Brian’s chest. “Don’t joke about that.”

Brian gave him a deep kiss, thoroughly fucking his mouth with his tongue. It was one of foolproof methods to distract Justin from topics he didn’t feel like discussing. Granted, it didn’t work as well as fucking, but he felt that would be a little obvious right now. Best to start small so Justin wouldn’t suspect he had ulterior motives.

“I know what you’re doing,” Justin said when they separated. “And if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. It just sounded like Michael was referring to something more than a passing remark. But if you promise me you’re okay, then that’s all I need to hear.”

“I’m okay,” Brian said.

“Good.” Justin gave Brian another kiss, but stepped back before it could progress into something more. “Now, I have to go finish up a sale. That old guy with the ponytail who’s been hitting on me all night wants to buy _Brief Candle_.”

“Oh, yeah? How much?”

“Well, since he’s been so friendly, I think I might give him the discount for friends and family and give it to him for 10K,” Justin said.

“I thought nothing was more than $7,500 this time,” Brian said.

Justin waggled his eyebrows and raised a finger to his lips. “Shh,” he said with a grin, and headed back out to swoop in on his prey.

Brian turned back to the bar and ordered another shot. It would put him past the optimal stage of inebriation, but it would be a while before they left anyway. And even the briefest walk down that particular block of Memory Lane required at least two stiff drinks. Never one to waste time, he downed the first shot and held up his finger for another.

He wasn’t bullshitting Justin: it really was a lifetime ago. He wasn’t the same man he was back then. He didn’t think the same way -- not about himself, not about life, not about growing old. Really, it was all a shift in prepositions. Brian was no longer concerned about growing up. He cared only of growing _with_ , growing _alongside_ , spending his time with the person who made it seem his life was really worth something. He’d learned that despite what he’d once said to Justin about it being “only time,” time was actually a precious commodity, and he wanted to spend as much of it with Justin as possible. And if that meant he’d have to sprout a few gray hairs that he surreptitiously plucked before Justin noticed, then so be it.

But that didn’t negate the fact that at one point, it _had_ been true. There wasn’t a doubt in Brian’s mind that if he hadn’t met Justin, his life would have been remarkably different, namely in that it would have been significantly shorter. It was a dark path to walk down, imagining his life unilluminated by Sunshine, and so most days he simply refused to think about it. But every so often, particularly in the last few months, a thought would trickle in, triggered by a sudden unbidden memory, and his treasonous mind would force him to confront the thoughts of where his life could have led. On those days Brian would hold Justin a little closer, fuck him a little harder, kiss him and touch him and feel his heart pounding against his own, anything at all to remind himself that this was all real, that they _had_ crossed paths and had managed to keep all this going. 

By far, the best decision Brian had ever made in his life was to leave Babylon early that night so he could spot Justin beneath that streetlight, and then take him home.

Of course, he hadn’t realized it at the time. He’d fought and protested nearly every step of the way, especially in the beginning. But in the end, it wasn’t as if he had any choice in the matter.

Somehow, Justin had managed to worm his way into Brian’s heart that very first night, and then had never left.

Brian blinked, willing his eyes to focus. There was a line of empty shot glasses in front of him, and he was growing concerned all of them were his. As discreetly as he could, he touched a finger to each one, counting.

“Five, sir,” the bartender said. “All yours.”

Brian arched an eyebrow at him and casually rubbed his cheek with his middle finger before turning around, trying to spot Justin in the crowd. Not that it was any of the bartender’s business, but he was fucking wasted, and he very much wanted to feel Justin’s body pressed hot and hard against his.

As if on cue, Justin appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and pressed his lips to the corner of Brian’s mouth. “Ready to go, unbirthday boy?”

Brian frowned. “Isn’t it early?”

“They can finish the party without me,” Justin said, wrapping his arm around Brian’s waist. 

“And everybody in from Pittsburgh?”

Justin snorted. “Have you seen them? They’re all falling asleep already. Not everybody is gifted with your _stamina_.”

“You’re damn right they’re not,” Brian said, and draped his arm over Justin’s shoulders, trying not to sigh in gratitude. The world was already much steadier.

“You went past the optimal stage, didn’t you?” Justin asked, amusement all over his face. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Brian muttered. His head shot up. “Gus?”

“We’re meeting them for brunch tomorrow,” Justin said, leading him to the door. “Tonight, I have big plans.”

“Big plans, hmm?” Brian said as they stepped into the car waiting for them outside. “And what, pray tell, are you hoping to accomplish tonight?”

“Well, originally I was thinking I’d have you fuck me up in the living room, right in front of the mirror, so I can watch you pound into me,” Justin said.

Brian reached over and lightly squeezed the top of Justin’s thigh. “And what made you change your mind?”

“Well, you _are_ several shots past the optimal stage,” he said, his voice teasing. “Not sure if you could maintain your balance long enough to get the job done.”

Brian creeped his hand upward, ever so slowly, until it hovered right over Justin’s crotch. Even trashed out of his mind, he didn’t miss the hitch of Justin’s breath, nor how he could see Justin’s dick already showing signs of interest. “Never had trouble getting the job done before.”

“No, you haven’t,” Justin agreed. “Only I thought maybe instead we could start with me spreading you out across our bed, tying your hands to the bedposts, and sucking you off until you beg me to come. Or maybe I’ll flip you over and fuck your ass with my tongue. You know those noises you make when I rim you? It’s kind of a cross between a moan and a sob and a wail? I’d love to hear that tonight. Or maybe --”

Brian didn’t get to hear what other ideas Justin had stored up, because it was suddenly impossible not to kiss him. He kissed him like a man starved, mashing their mouths together as their tongues slid over each other. One hand cupping the back of Justin’s head, the other pressing into his shoulder, Brian pushed him down until he was nearly lying flat on his back. Brian groaned and ground his erection against Justin’s. Yes. He could _feel_ this. This was real, and it was his, and it was his life, and _fuck_ if he wasn’t going to protect it with everything he had.

“Hold on, hold on,” Justin said, gasping. 

“What?” Brian asked, smirking. “Too close?”

“In more ways than one,” Justin said, struggling to sit up. “We’re here.” 

“What, you don’t want to come all over these comfortable leather seats?” Brian asked.

“I’d rather save it for coming down your throat,” Justin said, adjusting his pants.

“What, are you afraid you’ll only be able to come once tonight?” Brian asked. “When I was your age --”

“Mr. Kinney,” the driver said, opening the door for them.

Brian climbed out of the car, then waited for Justin to emerge so he could grab hold of him once again, press the full length of his body against his, lean his head down so it rested nearly on top of Justin’s. He heard Justin’s little laugh, and knew he thought it was because Brian was still unsteady on his feet from the extra shots of whiskey. And, true, that was a part of it. But it was more than that, now. Because now all Brian could think about was exactly what he was like when he was Justin’s age. It came crashing over him in waves, one memory pounding into him after another. And while normally when this happened Brian would topple a bit, struggling to regain his footing in the sand, tonight it seemed as though the waves were stronger, more powerful, a fucking tsunami, and they’d pull him under and swallow him whole. And with each step up the stairs to their apartment, wave after wave of memories and fears and what ifs pounded into him.

_Telling Michael to go home, staying later at Babylon, never seeing Justin under that streetlight._

_Getting the job in New York, cutting this love affair short on his own volition._

_Going to prom. Not going to prom._

_Flowers and picnics and chocolates and violin music._

_Cancer, cancer, fucking cancer._

“Hey,” Justin said, once they reached their apartment. “Are you feeling okay? You look a little pale.”

Brian shook his head, then immediately regretted that decision when he was hit with a rush of vertigo. “I’m fine.”

Justin kissed his cheek and walked him over to the couch. “How about I get you some water? We’re going to have to make sure you’re properly hydrated if we’re going to make good on those plans we discussed.”

Brian leaned against the back of the couch, watching as Justin opened the refrigerator and pulled out a couple bottles of water. “The only reason I’m here is because of you,” he blurted out. The back of his neck burned and the words reverberated inside of his head. Every part of his mind, body, and soul was revolting against revealing this secret, all those dark realities that still circled around his brain even after all these years. He couldn’t help but feel his admission had somehow tainted the very air they breathed in this room, that it may have given him the release he needed but infected Justin, infected what they had. He gripped the back of the couch, waiting.

“What are you talking about?” Justin said, walking back to him. He handed Brian a bottle, and he took a dutiful sip. “I thought you loved New York. You told me it was always your dream to come here.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Brian said. 

“Okay,” Justin said slowly, his brows furrowed. “So, then what?”

Brian drew a deep breath and looked down at the water bottle in his hands. He twisted the cap back and forth, eager for any distraction from the enormity of this confession. “Michael was right,” he finally said.

“Michael was --” Justin’s voice trailed off, and a look of resigned apprehension settled over his features. “About what?”

Brian forced himself to look up, look dead straight into Justin’s eyes. If he was going to say this, he was going to fucking say it, not stare down at his hands like a goddamn pussy. “There was a time I didn’t think I’d live to be forty.” 

Justin set down his bottle of water. “And why is that?” His words were clipped, as though Justin were thinking very carefully about each and every syllable before saying them out loud.

Brian raised his eyebrows. “What exactly about my lifestyle led you to believe I’d live a long and healthy life?”

“Oh, no,” Justin said. “You’re not pulling that bullshit. You don’t get to build up to something like that and then just pass it off as you living the hedonist’s wet dream. Now, tell me.”

Brian rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You already knew you’re the reason I made it through my 30th.” _First because he’d given Brian hope, and then because Brian couldn’t be a fucking pussy and die when Justin was lying in a hospital bed with his head bashed in._

Justin nodded as he crossed his arms over his chest. This was a conversation they’d already had. One night, after a remarkably tender fuck, Justin had been uncharacteristically quiet. After some prodding from Brian ( _not_ with his dick, for once), he’d asked him why he decided to come to prom. Unable to deny Justin anything, especially not when he looked up at him with flushed cheeks and questioning eyes, Brian had told him about Michael finding him and assuring him he’d always be young and beautiful, about his sudden desire to fully embrace whatever it was he had with Justin, and to do what he could to make him happy, just because he wanted to and because he _could_. And when Brian’s voice had cracked, ever so slightly but enough for Justin to notice, Justin had only drawn him closer, tangled his fingers in his hair, and whispered, “thank you, thank you, thank you,” over and over again in his ear. The brief conversation had been excruciating, but Brian had never regretted sharing it with Justin. He hoped he could say the same about this one. 

“Well, you’re going to have to help me out here,” Justin said. “Because I don’t get it. I understand your 30th, but why would you ever think you wouldn’t make it to your 40th? And why wouldn’t you tell me?”

Brian cleared his throat and took another cautious sip of water.

“Oh, fuck,” Justin breathed, all the color draining from his face. “When we were broken up? Or was it when I moved to New York?”

Brian shook his head. “A bit earlier than that.”

“Ethan?” Justin drew a deep breath, looked up at the ceiling in disbelief. “Were you planning on killing yourself --”

“Fuck, no,” Brian said. “No.”

“Then what?” Justin asked. 

“It’s harder to find a reason to hold back when you…”

“Brian,” Justin said quietly.

“When you’ve lost your reason,” Brian continued. “Or if you never had one in the first place.”

Justin’s gaze softened. “Well, I’m glad you found one,” he said, brushing his hand over Brian’s cheek.

Brian reached up and grasped his wrist, holding it in place. “And I almost didn’t.”

Justin frowned. “What?”

“I was getting blown right before I met you,” Brian said. “But the guy wasn’t much good, and I got bored, so I came and left quickly. What if I had actually picked somebody who knew how to suck a dick and I wanted to stay to make it last?”

Justin let out a light laugh. “You probably would have seen me outside anyway. It wasn’t like I was getting picked up by a lot of guys.”

Brian’s hold tightened around Justin’s wrist. “And if I hadn’t?”

“It doesn’t make much of a difference, does it? You did.” Justin raised an eyebrow at him. “Is that what’s bothering you? You’re not one to dwell on those kinds of things.”

“Because lately I can’t fucking stop thinking about it,” Brian said, releasing his grip on Justin. He turned away from him, pulled back his hair so hard it hurt. “I can’t fucking get it out of my head how easy it would have been for none of this to have happened. Hell, it’s actually _more_ likely that we’d have never met, or if we had, that we’d never see each other again after the first night.” He turned back to look at Justin, who was staring at him with wide, horror-struck eyes. “Have you ever thought of those odds, Sunshine?”

“Not…” Justin cleared his throat. “Not in a long time.”

“But you did,” Brian said, and shook his head. “ _Christ_!”

“Why are you thinking about all this?” Justin asked. “You can’t possibly believe I’m going to leave you after all we’ve been through. There are four million what ifs about our entire relationship. None of them came true. All that matters is what _did_ happen, and that’s that we’re here. Together.”

“And yet all four million of them are looping through my mind on constant repeat,” Brian said. “And all of them seem to end with me six feet under far before reaching tonight’s unbirthday celebration.”

Justin took a step back as if he’d been struck. “You can’t mean that.”

“Can’t I?” Brian asked with a bitter laugh. “You’ve seen my coping mechanisms. What makes you think I would have…” 

Brian heaved himself into a chair, held his face in his hands to avoid catching his reflection in the mirror in front of him. The number of times Justin had saved his ass over the years, both through direct action and simply be being there, loving him, were too many to count. At any one of those instances, Brian could have fallen without Justin being there to lift him up. 

If they’d never met. If Justin hadn’t pursued him. If Justin had left and never came back. 

If Justin hadn’t seen through his act immediately.

If Justin hadn’t fallen in love with him.

If Justin hadn’t _stayed_ in love with him, in spite of everything. 

“If I’d somehow managed to survive the drinking and drugs and promiscuous sex,” Brian said, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears, “what makes you think I would have survived cancer?”

Justin laughed. “You threw me out. You can’t tell me I was the reason you managed to beat cancer.”

“You’re the reason I got treatment,” Brian said, finally sitting up straight so he could see Justin.

That may have been a mistake. Justin looked like he was about to hurl right there in the middle of the living room. Brian couldn’t remember him ever looking this horrified. He might as well have punched him right in the gut himself; Justin would probably have been less distraught over that.

“You… you wouldn’t have gotten treatment?” Justin asked, and this time he was leaning against the back of the couch for support. “You would have just let it kill you?”

“If you’ve lost your reason,” Brian said, “or if you never had one in the first place…”

“Oh, my god,” Justin said, and dug the heels of his hands into his forehead. 

“Regretting asking for a glimpse inside my head?” Brian asked.

“No,” Justin said immediately. “I just can’t believe… _shit_. You wouldn’t have tried to fight it?”

“Have tricks suck a fake ball in the back room, or go off somewhere and die young and in a blaze of glory while I still had the chance?” Brian laughed. “You know who I was when you met me. Which do you think I’d choose?”

Tears glinted in Justin’s eyes, and Brian forced himself not to look away. He’d done this to him. He got a little wasted, a little melancholy, and he just had to spit it all out instead of keeping it safely tucked away where the only person it hurt was himself on darker days. And now Justin was looking at him as though his entire soul had shattered, and Brian knew he was the cause of it. 

“Justin,” he said, standing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have --”

Justin held up a hand. “No. No, I’m glad you told me. I just…” He drew a deep breath, exhaled slowly. “I just… I need a minute, okay?” He gave Brian a shaky smile and quickly disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

Brian remained very still, waiting for a shout or the sound of glass shattering or something else to indicate that Justin was reacting in exactly the same manner that Brian was inside his own mind. But after a long silence, the only noise he heard was the steady stream of water running from the sink.

Sighing, he sat back down to kick off his shoes and tug off his socks. It was a good thing he didn’t give a shit about birthdays, because this one was definitely taking the cake for being the worst in recent memory. 

However, he _did_ very much care about the man who had locked himself in the bathroom because he couldn’t stand to look at him.

_Brian Kinney gives a shit!_

Fuck, he’d been so young. He’d had no fucking idea what was lying ahead of him, let alone for the two of them. But who could have predicted all of this?

He glanced over at the bathroom door. Justin had turned the water off, leaving their apartment unnaturally quiet. Not for the first time that night, Brian felt bile rising in his throat, but given how the room had stopped spinning and he felt uncomfortably sober, he was now 100% certain that the reason wasn’t due to that bastard of a bartender.

The bathroom door opened, and Justin strode out toward Brian. His face and hair were wet, but that wasn’t what most struck Brian. Gone was the broken expression, replaced with one Brian was much more familiar one: Justin’s trademark “I have something to say, and you’re going to fucking well listen to it” face. Even without knowing what Justin was going to say, Brian felt immediately more at ease. He could handle shouting. He was significantly less adept at picking up splintering fragments, particularly when he was the one who’d shattered the glass in the first place.

“None of that matters,” Justin said, straddling Brian’s lap. “None of it. All those what ifs and maybes. They’re all bullshit.”

“Is that so?” Brian asked. His heart was pounding, so loudly he was certain Justin could hear it. 

“There may be four million ways we couldn’t have ended up like this,” Justin said, unbuttoning Brian’s shirt. “But there are four million and one that we would have made our way back to each other. There is simply not any possibility that exists that we wouldn’t end up right here, like this, together.”

Brian arched his neck, and Justin latched on there, pressing frenzied kisses exactly where Brian liked best. “Justin.”

“I’d choose you,” Justin said, and pulled Brian back up to his feet. And all while he undressed Brian, he kissed him, touched him, reminded him with firm hands and gentle caresses it was Justin who was standing before him, refusing to allow him to forget they had made it this far and would make it even further.

“In a hundred lifetimes," he continued, punctuating his words with long, tender kisses and intimate touches that threatened to destroy Brian. "In a hundred worlds. In _any_ version of reality.”

"Justin," Brian said, his voice raspy.

“I’d find you,” Justin said as he wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him again, hard. "And I'd choose you."

And with that, Justin pulled Brian down for a fierce, possessive kiss. Brian curled his arms around Justin’s waist, pulling him him so close he could swear he felt Justin’s heart beating inside his own chest. Strange as it was, with those few words from Justin, spoken with such force and conviction, as he touched Brian with the familiarity of a longtime lover, who knew him better than he knew himself, Brian felt all those anxieties that had anchored him down for so long turn to mist and dissipate in the air, seep out through the cracks and crevices of their apartment and out to the outside world, to infect any poor soul who wasn’t lucky enough to be them tonight. 

“That sounds suspiciously like the definition of a soul mate,” Brian said, pulling Justin’s shirt over his head. “Two people destined to find each other no matter what. I thought you always said you didn’t believe in that bullshit.”

“I don’t,” Justin said, and moved to help Brian remove his pants. “There’s no mysterious force pushing us together. From the very beginning, we’ve been together because we choose to be.” He stepped out of his pants and back into Brian’s arms. “But I know how we feel, and I know what we share. Time after time, we’ve always found our way back to each other. As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing that could have ever stopped us. So I don’t want to hear any more talk about how if things had gone differently, you might be… might not be here right now. As if I’d let you die before I was done with you.”

Brian laughed. “Have a timeline in plan? Only I really should give Mel a head’s up to make sure my will’s up to date.”

Justin reached between them and grabbed hold of Brian’s dick, making him gasp. “How do you feel about immortality?” Justin asked, licking up the length of Brian’s neck.

Brian chuckled and captured Justin’s mouth in a hard kiss. Justin groaned as he deepened it, reaching one hand behind Brian’s head to grasp his hair. Christ. Brian wished he could go back and have a stern chat with his younger self. He’d already come twice in the past four hours, and here he was, still hard and aching to come inside of Justin once again. He maneuvered them back toward the couch so he could grab the bottle of lubricant they kept on the end table, not once breaking the kiss.

“Hold on,” he said, pumping some of the lubricant into his fingers. “Believe you mentioned something about getting fucked in front of the mirror.”

Justin’s smile turned into a sharp gasp when Brian worked a finger into his ass. “Shit,” Justin said, grinding his dick against Brian. “Christ, Brian.”

“That’s it,” Brian whispered, sliding in a second finger. “There’s nothing quite like having something up your ass, is there?”

“I’d prefer your dick,” Justin said. His face was already flushed, beads of sweat forming on his brow, but he never altered his rhythm as he continued to stroke Brian. 

“I believe that can be arranged,” Brian said, still thrusting his fingers in and out of Justin’s ass, scissoring them so he’d brush against Justin’s prostate just hard enough to make his breath hitch. He loved this, loved teasing Justin, giving him just a taste of what was to come. And Justin knew, _knew_ the way Brian’s mind (and cock) worked, and it fucking drove him wild. 

“Fuck!” Justin cried suddenly, and grabbed Brian by both forearms and shoved him back down on the chair. 

“Not into playing games tonight, Taylor?” Brian asked, smirking.

“Not quite,” Justin said, and leaned down to kiss him once again. 

Brian lazily stroked his cock, waiting to see where Justin would take this next. He was still on fire from everything that had happened tonight; Brian should have known he’d be ready to bring out his dominant side. But given how Brian also very much needed to feel in control right now, feel Justin’s body mold against his… it was going to be a _very_ good fuck.

“Considering how eager you were to have my cock up your ass, you sure are taking your sweet time,” Brian said. He pulled out a condom from under the cushion of the chair and rolled it onto his dick. 

“Just considering my options, Kinney,” Justin said. “And I’m thinking I’m going to have to ride you.” He arched an eyebrow at Brian. “After all, we can’t have you breaking a hip pounding into me.”

“Asshole,” Brian said, and swatted Justin’s ass. Justin only laughed and gave him one last searing kiss before turning around and slowly lowering himself down onto Brian’s dick. Brian groaned as Justin took him in, inch by glorious inch, all tight and hot around his cock. It really was incredible -- no matter how many times they fucked, the moment Brian’s dick first entered Justin’s was enough to make his entire world explode in pleasure. He bent down and plastered hot kisses down Justin’s neck, sucking just hard enough there was a chance Justin would have to wear a rather unseasonable turtleneck tomorrow. 

“Fuck, Brian,” Justin said, his voice breathy.

“That’s it,” Brian said. He looked up, just enough so he could see the two of them in the mirror. Justin was clearly just warming up, gyrating his hips in smooth circles as he lazily stroked his dick. Brian trailed his hands up and down Justin’s chest, rubbing his nipples to hard nubs before moving down lower. When he creeped one hand loosely around Justin’s balls, barely more than a graze, Justin gasped and threw his head back. “That’s it, Sunshine. Fuck yourself on my cock.”

Justin laughed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“You would, too, by the looks of it,” Brian said, and raised Justin’s head so he was staring straight ahead at the mirror as well. “Look at yourself. You’re so fucking hard. You love feeling my dick deep inside of you. You love it filling you whole.”

“Fuck,” Justin said. He altered his rhythm, now moving up and down on Brian’s cock. “Brian.”

“Look at your face,” Brian said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “All flushed with sweat-slicked hair sticking to your forehead. Your mouth hanging open, lips parting ever so slightly each time you sink down on my dick.”

“Br… Brian.”

“What do you want?” Brian asked. He wanted nothing more than to dig his fingertips into Justin’s hips, to pound up hard into him as Justin rode him for all he was worth, but having a perfect view of Justin slowly coming undone was also a treasure not to be missed.

“Mmph.”

“Use your words, Taylor,” Brian said, and lightly bit his shoulder. “How else am I supposed to know what you want?”

“You always managed to figure it out before,” Justin said, and gripped his cock harder. “What, losing your short-term memory in your old age?”

Brian swatted the side of Justin’s thigh. “Fuck you.”

“Working on it,” Justin said, except, inconceivably, he all but stopped moving. “But I want something first.”

Brian suppressed the urge to whine. “What?” he asked, his hips thrusting upwards almost imperceptibly, desperate for friction. 

“A kiss,” Justin said, looking back over his shoulder. 

Well, that was easy enough. Brian gripped the back of Justin’s head and mashed their mouths together, swirling his tongue over Justin’s. It was one more way to draw Justin even closer to him, to feel absolutely _all_ of him. The kiss was rough and desperate and messy and everything that Brian needed to feel that night, yet another reminder that this was his, this was real. He could see it in front of him, he could see it reflected back at him, and he could feel it. _Christ_ , could he feel it.

And, for Justin’s part, he kept his word, moving harder and faster on Brian’s dick. 

“Shit,” Justin said suddenly, ripping his mouth away. “I’m close.”

“I want you to watch,” Brian said, and once again directed Justin’s face to the mirror. “Watch yourself come.”

Justin swallowed hard and nodded, slamming back down onto Brian’s dick as he jerked himself off. Brian pressed kisses to whatever spot of skin he could reach, ran a hand through Justin’s sweaty hair and another down his chest. The second Brian’s hand reached Justin’s, joined him in stroking him, Justin came with a shout, his come splattering of his chest. All throughout his climax, they kept their eyes locked on their reflections in the mirror, watching as Justin’s body convulsed and then seemed to melt right into Brian’s. Brian held on tight and latched his mouth onto the curve of Justin’s neck, alternating between licking and sucking him in just the spot he knew could make Justin see stars.

“Fuck,” Justin gasped, catching his breath. “That was…”

“Still is,” Brian reminded him, thrusting upwards. 

“Hang on,” Justin said, and climbed off Brian’s dick.

Brian grunted, not especially pleased by the turn of events, but his complaints were quickly swallowed by a deep kiss. He barely even noticed Justin removing the condom and tossing it aside, not until Justin broke the kiss and kneeled in front of him and delicately swiped his tongue along the length of his shaft.

“Thought you wanted to watch,” Brian said, groaning as Justin licked his balls.

“Guess you’ll just have to be my mirror instead,” Justin said, raising his eyebrows in challenge. “And remember, Mr. Kinney: use your words. How else will I know _exactly_ what I look like?”

“Fucking twa-- _ah_!”

Justin looked up at him, smirked at him as he released Brian’s dick from his mouth and gave the head a nearly chaste kiss. “Words, Mr. Kinney,” he said, and swallowed him whole. 

Of course, forming words was easier said than done, and Brian was having trouble saying anything at all. The mirror offered him a perfect view of Justin kneeling between his spread legs, his head bobbing up and down over his cock. And, of course, his perfect ass, the ass Brian had just buried himself in, that Brian could picture perfectly even with his eyes closed. Brian had always loved the way his tricks would look up at him, as though he was a god whose presence they were lucky enough to bask in. But being with Justin made him feel something even more powerful: that he was _mortal_ , the salt of the earth, capable of fully human qualities like love and lust and fear and hope. It made everything else -- the feeling of Justin sucking him, of Justin holding him, of Justin loving him -- all the more crucial to his very being. Gods didn’t rely on such things; they sustained themselves on sheer idolatry. 

But to a man, and to a man who knew what it was like to be loved by Justin Taylor, they were vital to his very existence.

And while Justin may be firm enough in his conviction that they’d always find their way back to each other, that nothing would be able to rip them apart permanently, Brian knew better than to tempt fate. He’d hold onto this, onto Justin, as firmly as he knew how.

A particularly dexterous flick of Justin’s tongue drew Brian out of his thoughts. “Fuck!”

“You’re supposed to be describing me,” Justin said, stroking him slowly. 

“You’re a fucking twat,” Brian said, and gasped as Justin twisted his wrist. “That’s what you are.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Justin said. “I believe the agreement was that you’d be my mirror.”

“Justin, just fucking suck me.”

Justin raised his eyebrows and flicked his thumb over the head of Brian’s dick.

“Please,” Brian whispered. 

“Not this time,” Justin said, and leaned back on his heels.

Brian blinked at him. Usually a hushed plea was a surefire way to get Justin to surrender; nothing turned him on more than to hear Brian beg. “What the hell?”

“Are you going to hold up on your end of the deal?”

“When did you become such a stickler for details?” Brian muttered. “Fine. I see you in front of me, come drying on your chest, stubbornly refusing to suck me off, even though it’s plain as fucking day that you want nothing more than to have my dick in your mouth.”

“Better,” Justin said, and lightly grasped Brian’s cock.

Brian exhaled, relieved to feel Justin holding him once again. “You’re so fucking hot,” he said. “You always look so incredible with your lips wrapped around my dick.”

Justin got the hint and leaned closer, taking Brian’s cock in his mouth.

“That’s it,” Brian said. “I can see the outline of my dick in your cheek. And you’re… you’re taking it all down. You love this. You’ve always loved this.”

“Mmm,” Justin agreed, sucking lightly on Brian’s balls as he continued jerking him off. “What else?”

“I see your gorgeous ass,” Brian said, sighing as Justin returned to sucking him. “It’s pink and moving up and down just slightly as you take me in your mouth. It’s like you’re begging me to fuck you all over again.” He groaned. “I think I will. I’m going to come down your throat and you’re going to swallow it all, and then we’re going to do it all over again.”

Justin reached one hand up, and Brian clutched it. Suddenly, he wasn’t quite so interested in staring at their reflections in the mirror. He knew they were there. He knew they would always be there. But while it was incredible to be able to see them from every angle, it was exquisite to simply _feel_ , to lose himself in the sensation of Justin’s mouth around him, of Justin’s hand gripping his own, of Justin’s hair tangled between his fingers.

“I’m going to do it,” Brian said suddenly as he felt his balls tighten. “I’m going to fucking come. Justin.”

Justin looked up at him with eyes filled with all those vital emotions, and Brian, being only a man, couldn’t resist. He came with a shout, squeezing Justin’s hand hard as he shot his release down his throat. Justin didn’t alter his rhythm, simply stayed there and swallowed it all. As Brian leaned back in the chair, his chest heaving, Justin gently slid off his dick, then carefully licked up every last drop like a kitten laps milk. Brian sighed and pulled Justin back up onto the chair.

“Kinky bastard,” Justin said as he settled himself into Brian’s lap. “I can’t wait to celebrate your 50th.”

“Who’s to say I won’t be boring and vanilla?” Brian asked, reaching for Justin’s hand and settling them on his chest.

“Those two words don’t even exist in your vocabulary,” Justin said. “Brian Kinney will always be the most extraordinary lover in the universe, tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.”

Brian frowned. “Didn’t Macbeth say that after his evil bitch of a wife killed herself?”

“You told me you didn’t read Shakespeare,” Justin said, laughing. “You were of exactly zero help to me when I was working on those paintings.”

“I didn’t,” Brian said. “I was busy getting blown in the cafeteria. But I did read the captions to your works. That wasn’t a cheerful line, young man.”

“What difference does it make?” Justin asked, and pressed his lips to the curve of Brian’s neck. “We’ve always been about creating our own meaning. And I prefer to think of it as tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow of laughing and loving and fucking and everything in between.”

Brian snorted, but drew Justin even closer. “You would.”

“Yeah,” Justin agreed. He lifted his head slightly so he could see their reflections in the mirror. “We look good in a mirror. Not everybody does. We’re lucky.”

Brian laughed and kissed the top of Justin’s head. “Nice to see your ego has survived the evening. I know these shows can be brutal.”

“I’m serious,” Justin said. “Some people don’t hold up well in mirrors. They reveal all those imperfections you try not to look at, show angles you’re not used to seeing. But we look great.”

“You should paint us,” Brian said, tracing meandering patterns down Justin’s back. “Us and our reflection.”

“I did,” Justin said, smiling. “It’s called _Show of the Eight Kings_.”

Brian raised an eyebrow. “I don’t recall seeing eight of us anywhere.”

“It’s from _Macbeth_ again,” Justin said. “Macbeth sees this apparition of eight kings, the last of whom is holding up a mirror to reflect a never-ending line of kings. He realizes he’s screwed, that it’s foretelling how all of Banquo’s descendants will rule Scotland.”

Brian frowned. “I don’t believe I saw any paintings of us in kilts at the gallery, with mirrors or otherwise.”

“That’s because I saved it as a present for you,” Justin said, nestling back into Brian’s shoulder. “It’s hidden under the bed in the guest bedroom. Although you’ll find I decided to skip the kilts and just go straight for naked.”

“A birthday present, Sunshine?” Brian asked, lazily stroking his hair.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Justin said. His speech was languid, as though he might fall asleep right there. “It’s to celebrate the close of my show.”

“Of course,” Brian said.

In the mirror, he could see that Justin had closed his eyes. His lips were puckered ever so slightly, as if he wanted to be prepared at a moment’s notice in case Brian should feel the need to swoop in for another kiss. Never one to resist such a sight, Brian brushed his lips over Justin’s, smiling when Justin let out a soft sigh and burrowed deeper into Brian’s arms.

Brian studied their reflections in the mirror. His own face stared back at him, daring him to challenge this exquisite image, to ever suggest that there existed a world where he and Justin didn’t end up together, right here, just like this. 

With the solid weight of Justin in his arms, with the memory of Justin riding him at the forefront of his mind, with all of Justin’s words still ringing in his ears, with the feeling of Justin’s heart beating against his, Brian knew better. 

They’d found each other, chosen each other, time and time again. And they’d go on together, just like this.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.


End file.
